north.'
Agron sighed. 'Did you not hear the Vargs last night? They are Modru's scouts, and I have no doubt they've carried the word to him. Even now a Horde may be on the march to block the far end. We must hurl the Rupt down from the rampart of rubble and clear it away, and quickly, for I would not have a Horde come upon us while we are yet confined herein, where our cavalry is more of a hindrance than an asset. Out in the open we have the advantage, but herein the leverage is theirs.'
Once again the battle was fierce, the footing up the ice-clad, snow-laden scree treacherous, the Rupt holding the narrow way to the last. Yet finally the king and his men prevailed, for Agron sent men climbing up and across the ravine walls on each side and through a hail of deadly black arrows to come at the Spawn from the rear, the foe to break and run, Agron's forces winning the way. Even so, the wounding of men was disproportionate: the Spawn had slain at least three for each casualty of their own.
Now did the vanguard wait for the bulk of the army and the wagons to arrive, for the slide was formidable, and it would take many men long, long candlemarks to clear the way.
In early morn as a dark day came churning on the land, the king called Tip and Auly unto him. Above the rising wind Agron said, 'With all thirty thousand of us laboring together, we should clear the bulk of the blockage in a day or so, at least well enough to get the wagons through. Ere then I would have ye both ride along the remainder of the pass, to see if any Spawn yet lurk. As soon as we can, the vanguard and I will follow after ye. Meanwhile, take care, for there may be a full Horde lying in wait, and I would not have ye fall into a Spawnish trap.'
Tip gestured at the slide. 'Lord King, you bid us to ride ahead, yet we cannot ride over that.'
Agron nodded. 'Nay, ye cannot. Yet I ween my men can get your two steeds across. It will take many hands, but get them across we will.'
And so, in the swirling wind, angling up and across the slide and angling down again, horse and pony scrambled and skidded and lunged and stiff-leggedly balked, as slowly they scrabbled up and over the slide and down again, men all 'round the steeds to shore with strong arms and hands and to coax and wheedle and haul with ropes, and to support and prop and brace, to lift and tow, other men atop the rubble anchoring ropes on both the ascent and descent, an occasional man slipping and falling and rising again to aid those yet afoot. But at last the steeds came down the far side of the pile and to the floor of the pass beyond, Tip and Auly fretting and fuming every struggling step of the way.
'Lor',' said Auly, inspecting his bay, finding her none the worse for the ordeal though her eyes were yet wide and rolling, 'but it's a wonder a leg wasn't broken-on horse, pony, or man.'
'I think my black had an easier time of it,' replied Tip, the little pony standing calmly as the buccan checked the cinch strap and made certain his bedroll and saddlebags and lute were lashed firmly to the rear cantle, and his bow and extra quiver lashed firmly to the one in front. And he settled a sack holding three days half-rations of grain across the steed's withers. Though Tip's pony and Auly's horse would be on half-rations for the next few days, they would let the black and bay eat their fill when they came to the army again.
'Ready?' asked Auly, glancing at the dark roiling sky above.
'Ready,' replied Tip, turning and waving at Agron atop the heap and receiving a salute in return.
As they mounted up and started down the grim slot ahead, Auly said, 'I don't like the looks of what might be riding on the whirling wings of this wind. Methinks for the past two days there's been a storm brewing, mayhap one conjured by Modru, Master of the Cold.'
'If so,' said Tip, pulling his flapping cloak about his shoulders, 'then perhaps he's wasting his power.'
'Oh?'
'Aye, for should he hurl blizzard at us, then down here in this narrow slot we should be well out of the worst of it.'
The blizzard came screaming in late afternoon, trapping Tip and Auly in a howling white Hel, the pass acting as a giant funnel to channel the shrieking wind and hurtling ice and snow up the slot to the deep-laden steeps above. The world was now a darkling white, and Tip could but barely see Auly's dim form straight ahead, though he was but a handful of paces away.
Seeking shelter, they rode along the north slope of the slot, for there the wind seemed a bit less strong. Even so, it pummelled and battered at them and at their steeds, seeking to hammer them into oblivion, or to freeze them where they stood. And so Tip and Auly sought refuge from the wind, needing to find it quickly ere darkness fell, ere the blast could wrench away life. They were some twelve miles west of the army and nigh the outlet of the pass, and in those twelve miles they had seen no sign of the enemy, but for a scramble of tracks running away. Yet neither friend nor foe were on their minds, but finding safe haven instead.
Of a sudden Auly in the lead veered leftward, angling across the pass, Tip following, and in among high boulders they rode. How Auly had seen them through the hurling white, had seen them through the oncoming night, Tip could not say, yet he was relieved that they had found a shelter of sorts. Still the wind shrieked among the stones, less fierce than out in the open. Auly dismounted and called something back to Tip, but the howling air shredded Auly's words and flung them away on the wind. Yet Tip guessed at what Auly had perhaps called and dismounted as well -just as a huge black form hurtled through the shrieking white and over Tip's head and crashed into the pony, slamming the steed sideways and to the ground.
'Waugh!' shrilled Tip, only to hear Auly's scream and a horrid yowl. Tip's floundering pony squealed in terror, a terror chopped off in mid scream as the black creature atop tore out the little steed's throat. Tip jerked an arrow from his quiver as, slavering blood, the dark creature whirled toward the buccan and leaped. The Warrow only had time to shove the arrow out before himself as the beast smashed into Tipperton and knocked him backwards, Tip's upflung arm to be caught in the creature's jaws, as together they crashed to the ground, the monster slamming down atop the buccan, knocking the wind from his lungs. Stunned, unable to breathe, Tip feebly pushed at the beast, but it crushed down on him, its fangs locked on Tip's limb.
Oh lor', what a way to Ghuuhhh!
Tip managed to inhale.
In the shrieking white, the creature atop him did not move, its crushing weight pinning the buccan.
Ripping his forearm free of the fang-filled jaws, blood flowing unchecked through the shredded cloth of his jacket sleeve, desperately Tip kicked and shoved at the beast, finally struggling out from under the dark creature.
Floundering to his feet, Tip looked down to see-Vulg! It's a Vulg!-the buccan's arrow driven deeply into the beast's chest. But Tip did not pause to wonder at this turn of fortune. Instead Auly!
Now Tip snatched his bow from the scabbard on his dead pony and set an arrow to string and whirled toward where Auly had been, though there was little he could see. With the wind screaming and whiteness hurtling all 'round, Tip pressed through the blizzard to find Oh, Auly.
Where the scout's throat had been there was nought but a gaping ruin, spewn red blood staining crimson the snow. Auly's dead eyes stared wide with fright, locked on the hurtling ice and snow of the blizzard shrieking above. Lying next to him was a dead Vulg, a dagger embedded to the hilt in its baleful left eye. Of Auly's horse there was no sign.
Tip fell to his knees in the snow beside the grizzled man and gently closed his eyes.
Auly, Auly, with force of arms you slew your murderer, whereas mine was slain by chance.
Overlaid on the yowling wind came a howl of a different sort.
Tip leapt to his feet-Vulgs! More Vulgs!-his bow at the ready. Oh lor', the blood, the scent of the blood, it will bring them running. But wait, the wind, they might not- Never mind, bucco, you've got to get out of here, out of the pass altogether.
Darting back to his dead pony, Tip unlashed his bedroll and saddlebags and lute from the rear cantle and shouldered all. He turned toward Auly's body. Oh, Auly, I cannot leave you here for the Vulgs to Another howl cut through the wind, this one louder.
Faced with little or no choice, Tipperton turned in the yowling blizzard and the falling dark and began scrambling through pummelling wind and shrieking white and up the canted slope, the snow cascading down the slant behind.
Higher he climbed and higher, air and ice screaming all 'round, the wind stealing his heat even as he sought safe haven. He came to the face of a bluff, a bluff he hadn't the strength to climb even were there no blizzard plucking his life away. Leftward he turned, away from the hammering blast and back toward the army miles hence,
